The sofa is too big

The sofa is too big

With unnecessary cushions

Wedged at odd angles

To compensate

For the expanse

Of empty space.

There is a depression

In just one of the five seats

Where the upholstery has dropped,

A strap broken,

Or a snapped cross strut,

In dire need of repair.

A corner suite,

With the other side

Of the dog leg

Rarely used.

They would always sit together,

Her head against his chest.

He would bend

To kiss her top knot

From time to time,

Breathe in the

Warm smell of her hair,

The essence of her

An essential comfort.

He never wanted cushions,

Not really,

Few men do,

Too much clutter.

But she chose them,

And they will stay.

Each one reminds him of her,

Of shopping trips,

When it was a struggle

To understand just how long

It could take one person

To chose

A pair of shoes.

Or a cruet set.

It is too late now,

For wishing he hadn’t

Become such a grump

When she bought yet another

Throw over.

How many cushions

Does one house need?

Answer,

Never enough.

The bed is too wide,

He lies so close to the edge,

Barely touching the matress.

And has no plan

In place

For when to change the pillow case,

After all,

It still carries

A faint impression from

The last time she lay there.

Two dresses still hang from

The wardrobe door.

How can she have gone,

When she is everywhere.

How can he forget,

When there is

So much left to remember.